


Truly Travelling Towards Someone

by PaulaMcG



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: 1970s, Artist Remus Lupin, Beachy Head, Brighton - Freeform, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kissing, Love, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Marauders Friendship (Harry Potter), Motorcycles, Quickies, Semi-Public Sex, Sirius Black & James Potter Friendship, Sirius Black's Flying Motorbike, Summer Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-01-31 10:08:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21444481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaulaMcG/pseuds/PaulaMcG
Summary: After leaving Hogwarts, by the end of the summer, Sirius knows what he wants: he wants his Moony behind his back, and he wants his motorbike blue and…
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 19
Kudos: 16
Collections: 2019 Sirius Black Fest





	Truly Travelling Towards Someone

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt #:** 37  
**Disclaimer: ** Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.  
**Notes:** Thank you, my amazing beta redblonde7. All the remaining colons and other clunkiness are my fault. Some simple phrases and single words (listed in the notes after the story text) derive from the lyrics of the prompt song, Blue Motorbike by Moto Boy.

_ I’ve got it! Need your help with some painting._

I glance at the line I’ve scribbled. Moony’s used to deciphering my sloppy handwriting and at least he’ll recognise it as mine. Impatient, I’m already holding the express owl in the nook of my left arm, and it’s pecking at the sleeve of my t-shirt as reproachfully as the innkeeper stared at my Muggle outfit. Despite the distraction I try to write the instructions more clearly. 

_ Come by floo to the Toad With Two Heads in Kemptown, Brighton. I’m picking you up at sevenish._

No signature needed. Without further thought, I add something anyway. 

_ Baa!_

Maybe he’ll think I’m only asking him to give my regards to his hilarious sheep. As if the stupid flock needed a wolf as shepherd! His parents just want to keep him at home as long as possible, and he agrees with them that he shouldn’t come to London before September, when he’ll get the first installment of his grant for studies at Merlin college. I do hope he’ll keep his promise to move to London, not to Oxford, even though now I’ve got a new means of travelling to his place. 

All right, I’ve attached the note to the owl’s foot. The innkeeper keeps scowling at me, and his hand is on the counter, over the change from my two Galleons until I’ve set the bird free. He must suspect I’m a Muggle. 

And I reinforce his suspicions when – without taking a step further into the wizarding side of Brighton – I exit the same way I arrived. I’m marching through the side door, which leads to the gents in the Muggle pub, to the cubicle marked as out of use. 

I am glad that unlike the first time here, I’ve found this magical entrance and, above all, the chance to contact Remus by owl and floo. Otherwise – no matter how much I want to express my gratitude for the home I was given when I’d run away – I could hardly have accepted the Potters’ invitation to one last shared seaside holiday in this exotic Muggle resort. But today my interest lies in the Muggle world, and that’s where I’ll take my Moony, too – truly taking him out. 

The heat on this paved street can’t make me slow down when I’m striding back to the beauty. He’s waiting for me, and he’s mine. Yes, he! And his name will be… Grim. His colour, too, will soon be right, and I like the idea that Remus and I will change it together. 

I’ve learnt to change myself, to be what Moony needs – someone like him. To be the dog for his wolf whenever he needs, and more than that, to be the man for him. Underneath, there remains what I was before I got… violated, and what I became: distorted, deformed. But the sublime magic transforms us – even me from a stray into his best friend, even into a lover for… Not for any man, but for someone who’s more than human: my Moony. 

And he’ll help me transform my Grim, too. Here’s the garage finally, and I hurry in through the wide-open doors. 

After the glare of sunshine, it’s hard to discern anything in the gloom further inside. But as I smell the enticing scents of oil and petrol, I think I can sense the presence of my beautiful bike. 

“How is he?” I blurt out, breathless. 

“He’s fine.” James, my true brother, steps forward, chuckling. 

His spectacles glint in the light from the street, and – added to the toothy grin – make him look both amused and thrilled. I don’t mind if he laughs at me. He didn’t when I confessed that one reason why I was dying to get back home – to my own flat, which I bought not much more than a year ago – was that now it was time for this purchase. And he convinced me that it was worth looking around here, and he’s the one who first saw the notice. 

_ For sale: 1975 Norton 850 Commando Mk3 Roadster, blue._

“Thanks for babysitting.” I can’t be blamed for taking myself too seriously. 

“Don’t tell me you’re going to call it your baby.” 

“No!” I wouldn’t tell him even if I did. “I’ve decided the bike’s name is Grim.” 

I think I’ve managed to approach the motorbike with a cool, leisurely gait. Now I first touch my fingertips to the handlebar, and then, while sliding my palm over the gleaming cobalt blue fuel tank, place the other hand firmly on the saddle. _ I hope you like your name_, I’m saying like in a voiceless spell, but only siriusly, smiling at myself. 

Aloud, to James I say, “Did the seller finish lubricating the chain?” 

“Yes. The… Grim is ready and all yours.” 

“Let’s go then! It’s past six.” I reach for the two open-face helmets on the workbench and offer one to James. 

He must have expected to ride the bike behind me just like whenever I’ve rented one, but now he hesitates for a moment before attaching the helmet and saying, “You’ve got enough time to give me a ride to our hotel.” 

“All right. Thanks!” 

Straddling my Grim, I feel warmth akin to arousal I’ve slowly learnt to reach when staring at Moony’s face. 

James doesn’t ask me why I’m thanking him. “You’re welcome,” he says. “I think I should let the two of you stay alone when you get together tonight. Or the three of you.” 

I punch him in the side. He folds his arms and remains standing to watch how I fiddle with this fancy starter, which neither of us expects to work. All right, perhaps next time it will. 

Now I begin to push Grim out of the garage with force, and after getting a good speed, I dump the clutch. The engine’s purring, James jumps on, and here we go. 

My motorbike! It’s running even more smoothly than when I roadtested it. But these streets are too narrow and crowded, and I’m still impatient. 

Now we’re riding along Marine Parade. The view of the open sea on my left should make me feel free, but I’m just gazing ahead at the Palace Pier, and speeding to reach the hotel as soon as possible. 

Without stopping the engine, I hurry James to get off. “Thanks again, brother!” 

“Say hello to Moony from me. And don’t let him fall…” 

I’m already heading back to Kemptown. Finally on my way! 

I’ve always hated standing still. And since the moment when I got away from that prison of a house, I’ve been fleeing, flying, gaining distance… Even after being offered a home, and after getting one of my own, and finding a way closer and closer to Remus, only now do I feel that I’m truly travelling towards someone, with speed and power fully in my control. 

  


  


Here he is, stumbling out of the green flames right into my arms. No, I mustn’t do more than grab his shoulders so as to steady him. 

Some patrons are already staring at me with frowns, simply because I’ve returned so soon and not bought a drink even now. A hug here in public would make them guess, correctly, that this is a romantic rendezvous. 

But his face, more tanned than last time, is too beautiful and too close to me. I, who hated touching anyone not long ago, can’t resist lifting a finger to brush his cheekbone. 

“You’ve got a fleck of soot here,” is the excuse I come up with. 

He gives me such an open smile that I can see the tip of his tongue peek between his teeth. I have to look away, and I get fixated at the golden wisps of hair on his forehead and temples and over his ears. He has let his hair grow, and the sun has lightened it. 

“Baa-aa?” he says. 

And we both know it’s the mating call we adopted from his flock, at my first visit, in July last year, when in the shelter of the sheep shed I let him lay his hand on my hard-on, and… 

I’m breathing hard, and like back then I can smell the herbs they grow on the ancient estate: sage and lemon balm. He, in turn, is gazing at me with such intensity, with his eyes so wide that they really resemble an owl’s. Yes, they are amber. I’ve named the colour, proud to know some words for colours better than he does, especially the gemstone colours. 

Avoiding his inviting mouth, I study his collarbones, which make him look too vulnerable. He’s followed the advice in my earlier note, in which I prepared him that after finding a motorbike I’d ask him out to the Muggle world. He is wearing a t-shirt, and jeans, so low on the waist that there’s a hint of bare skin below the hem of his shirt, and they reveal the shape of his narrow, bony hips. 

I bite my lip. “So you’re ready for me to take you out?” 

Without waiting for a response, I turn my back to him and stride to the side door. 

In the cubicle of the Muggle gents, I realise I’m trembling, still on the verge of freaking out at the thought that there’s someone to assault me from behind, but I’m also boldly anticipating the challenge of his touch. I know he won’t hurt me, just as I hope that, after the Willow Incident, he’s regained his trust that I’ll never hurt him, never harm him again. He’s still tender and cautious with me. After I’ve heard the door shut, he reaches for my hand first, with his sensitive, left hand, the one he uses for his art. 

Only after I’ve turned around and moved closer, and placed my other palm on his right buttock, does he press against me. Now I can feast my eyes on his parting lips. Yes, I’m even kissing his mouth, pushing my tongue in. I can sense how happy he is, and how patiently he’s waiting for my permission, resisting his impulse to push. 

Bracing myself, I withdraw my tongue and let his in. And this doesn’t stop me from breathing freely; I’m just tasting ever stronger the lemony and peppery flavours of his herbs. 

Our breaths and hearts are now sharing a quickening rhythm. When the painful throbbing of my cock meets his hard-on through the coarse fabric, he guides my hand to his belt. But I can help him only a bit. I need to hurry to open my fly. There’s hardly time for our cocks to rub together before we’re coming. 

Only when catching my breath, my lips still on his, I realise I’ve leant on him, pushing him against the wall. 

“Amazing!” he says, with a sigh of bliss. “You were amazing.” 

He never fails to praise my tiniest step of progress, while he knows I hope I can soon do better. 

In my own bliss, I’ve forgotten, but now I remember to place a finger on my lips. And I draw out my wand from the back pocket and hurry to perform the Scouring Charms on both of us, because I doubt he’d manage it voicelessly. 

Buttoning my fly, I whisper to him. “I’m going first. Wait. I’ll open for you when there’s no one else in the gents.” 

I’ve always loved risks, but in this issue… I’m not so sure. Peter, of course, resents Remus’s closeness with me, but I don’t think he’s lied when warning us. We’re not legal at all in the Muggle world either, not until we’re twenty-one, and even then not in public. What we’ve just done is gross indecency – a serious crime. 

With my heart pounding again, I slip out of the cubicle and close the door behind me, just in case. 

If we’re not caught, I could be proud of rebellion like this, but… I’m not like Uncle Alphard, I don’t want to be. It’s just Remus I love, and what we do is just healing each other. 

I realise I’m staring at my pale, frowning face in the mirror in the deserted room. Jerking my head so as to flick aside the hair that’s hanging over one eye, I reach back to open the door for Remus, then stride out and straight to the street without even glancing at him. 

By the time he arrives at the threshold of the pub, I’ve regained my cool. Grim’s helped me. I’m straddling him, leaning an elbow on the gleaming blue tank, and I wink to Remus. 

I love his gait – how rhythmic and easy it is now when, with the three of us transformed, too, he never mauls himself at full moon, and never needs to limp. He’s walking as if barefoot, indeed, wearing flimsy canvas shoes, with no socks, his thin ankles bare, as those jeans I gave him last summer are now too short. Wishing I could protect him better, I can just hand him a helmet. 

“Come on!” I pat the saddle behind me. “His name’s Grim. Grim, this is my Moony.” 

“Pleased to meet you.” Remus attaches the helmet, and, gripping my shoulders and lifting a leg over the saddle, he whispers, “But he’s blue.” 

“You can help him change. And look, he’s the new model, with an electric starter.” 

To my pride, now I manage to make it actually work. Some traders of the older models say that if this novelty starter ever works, it’s a surprise every time. Or a miracle, I think, and Remus says the two of us can make each other believe in miracles. 

Over Grim’s roar I shout, “Now hold on tight!” 

  


  


He’s wrapped his arms around my waist and placed his chin on my shoulder. I love the speed, I love my Moony, and in this way, on our way right here and now, it’s the most natural and necessary thing that he’s pressed so close to me. I’ve headed east and sped to leave the town behind as soon as possible, and we’ve reached the road high over the steep chalk cliffs. 

Now I steer off the road and continue towards the edge, swinging from side to side. I can sense against my back how chuckling starts in his abdomen. And the sound of his laughter rings out loud in the wind when I stop Grim, several yards before he can see all the magnificence of the spot where I’ve brought him. 

“That was like dancing,” he says, still holding me tight. “I’ve so much wanted to go out dancing with you.” 

“We can’t… I’m… We’re too young to dance.” That sounded too confused and serious, and taking off my helmet, I grin to him. 

He’s rubbed his left palm against my thigh, and now when getting off, he seems reluctant to separate his body from mine. I force my gaze away from his beaming, golden-brown face framed by those cute wisps, which are now being tugged by the blasts from the sea. 

I have to glance back at the road, to check if anyone who passes is watching. No, but before he starts holding my hand or something, I head for the very edge, for the view of the high white chalk wall where it curves around a bay. 

Walking behind me, he hasn’t seen it yet, just the sky and the water. “See how the sunset paints the sea!” He laughs again, at his own words. “See the sea… Oh, you wrote that there was some painting to do. That’s what you wanted me for.” 

“I wanted you for everything. To look at this view.” 

Now he’s hushed, in awe. His eyes are filling with the beauty of the landscape. He loves beauty – and food, as he’s admitted, with a chortle. And he’s started teaching me to see beauty in unexpected places, in little things, too. But this is something I have spotted by myself and can offer to him. I’ve been right about the timing, too. The colours are so mesmerising that together with the height they almost make me dizzy, let alone him. 

But how could I support him? Here it’s ever harder to dare touch him. One wrong move, and we can make each other fall down. 

“What a surprise gift!” he says, with that sigh of bliss again. “I know you want your Grim black.” 

He’s not just being conscientious and too grateful, eager to return favours. The enticing masterpiece of nature has hooked him and keeps his thoughts at painting. I, in turn, am no longer sure if the request in my note was more than an excuse. 

“Repainting the fuel tank in the Muggle way is a lot of work,” I explain in any case. “You’ve practised some magic of colouring without actual paint, too. So I thought perhaps…” 

“I use those spells only for testing.” He’s still staring at the changing shades on the waves deep below, maybe playing with the thought of testing something like that on a watercolour picture or on Grim. “The result is not permanent, and the original colour doesn’t disappear for good.” 

“You mean the new colour is not real?” 

“You should know it is, it’s magic and real.” Now he meets my eyes. “And you’ll learn to do it better than I can. I’ll teach you.” 

“I’ll learn. You know I’ve learnt the Disillusionment Charm – voiceless, too.” I’ve got an idea, and I blurt it out. “I could Disillusion us, all three of us. But when we’re riding in traffic…” 

Perhaps in that there’s another risk I don’t like. “Someday I’ll charm Grim to fly, and we’ll be flying high above everyone else, invisible to them, merged into that sunset seascape. But now…” 

When I’m drawing out my wand, he responds with his widest smile. My other hand pulls him to a safer distance from the edge. I’ll charm any illusion away, and we’ll be fully real and free.

**Author's Note:**

> Phrases, words and concepts that I adopted from the lyrics of Blue Motorbike by Moto Boy: asking you out, picking you up, sevenish, hold on tight, speed, sense, sea, falling, even kissing, Grim, I’m too young to dance.


End file.
